


Blue, Green and our Colours Between

by UmbraeCalamitas, WhinyWingedWinchester



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Awesome Frigga (Marvel), Collaboration, Dashingfrost - Freeform, Fandral is a Sweetheart, Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Sad Ending, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Collector is a creep, Thor & Fandral - Freeform, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, soulmate rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 16:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18742351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraeCalamitas/pseuds/UmbraeCalamitas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhinyWingedWinchester/pseuds/WhinyWingedWinchester
Summary: You find your soulmate when the world suddenly explodes into colour around you.Loki and Fandral are soulmates. Which should be wonderful, considering they've each loved the other for years.But while Fandral is ecstatic, Loki is not and rejects him harshly.Loki flees to clear his mind, but Rejection is a death sentence if it's not taken back in time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, we did it again.  
> We are unrepentant DashingFrost trash. So have a soulmates Au with a hefty dose of angst and feels.  
> This has two alternate endings~!  
> \- xx Talky & Trips.

One last check to make sure everything was perfect.

His robes were fitted, the crown of flowers that Frigga had woven for him with flowers from her personal gardens sat on his head and Thor had helped him with getting the bracelets forged. His own smokey-blue seidr glowed through the runes etched in the gold - love, devotion, soul and honesty - all the things Fandral would pledge to give Loki.

Finding out had been an accident of the best kind. A trip to Jotunheim with Thor and Sif to attempt to renegotiate a few terms of the new treaty had turned dangerous on the way back to the Bifrost site. Loki had been struck from behind by a Jotun rebel. Something had shimmered all over him, and Fandral had been the one to catch him as he fell. And suddenly… Loki had been blue. And Fandral could _see_ it. His magic had been a perfect match for the colour of Loki’s skin, and when the other’s eyes had opened, Fandral grinned down at him. The wonder on Loki’s face told him that he was seeing colours too.

But then Loki had shoved him aside, disappeared into Yggdrasil’s branches, and not even Fandral’s extensive shadowpaths had been able to find him. So he’d given up after a day, and headed back to Asgard. Always, deep down in his heart, he’d had a secret hope that Loki would be his soulmate, and when he stopped and let it sink in… he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d almost cried with joy.

Frigga and Odin had been so happy for him and for Loki, and helped him to organise _this_ in the short week that Loki had taken to come home. _This_ being a party for Fandral to present his bonding gift to Loki and announce their soulmate bond to Asgard. Thor had been in charge of ensuring that Loki would actually attend, as well as helping Fandral to pick out the perfect gift.

Loki had been told it was a party to welcome some dignitaries and his attendance was absolutely mandatory. Fandral grinned up at Thor as his friend clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder and wished him luck as he passed. Thor had been the one everyone had been most concerned about in regards to accepting Loki’s Jotun heritage, but he’d simply taken it in his stride.

“It matters not if he is blue, or Aesir,” he’d said bluntly. “He is Loki, and he is my brother.”

The room had been decked out in the smokey-blue they both shared, flowers that spoke of eternal devotion, of bonds and love hung everywhere and Fandral was bouncing on his toes waiting. Frigga poked her head around the door and gave him a thumbs up before she entered and took her place beside Thor and Odin, and Fandral scurried to get into position in the centre of the room. Sif, Thor, their parents and their friends formed a loose semi-circle behind him, and Fandral gripped the bracelets - his bonding gift for Loki - tighter in his hands and took a deep steadying breath as the door pushed open.

* * *

He did _not_ want to be here.

Loki ground his teeth in frustration - a terrible habit he needed to stop - as he stalked down the hall. He was dressed in his court finery, although his mother had informed him that his armor was unnecessary for the day’s events. Nevertheless, though he was not _wearing_ it, it remained close-at-hand. Hidden away in one of this subspace pockets, it would be easy to simply open the pocket and summon it to his person.

He’d much rather climb into one of his subspace pockets himself and disappear. He hadn’t planned on returning yet. He had, in fact, planned on disappearing for a century or two, or perhaps five - however long it took for things to be _over._

For the colors to _stop._

His back twinged with phantom pain where the blade of the rebel Jotun had slid into him. The wound had been healed expertly, though he’d sought out the healers of Vanaheim rather than risk going to Eir and having her tie him down until Fandral, or worse, his mother, could arrive.

Soulmates. He was _Soulmates_ with _Fandral._

The Norns were fucking cruel.

He’d planned to stay away, jumping planets until news came to him of Fandral’s death of old age. Then, and _only then,_ would he return to Asgard. Better to be gone for it than to remain and suffer watching the man succumb to time. Better to flee and wonder at the possibilities than to remain and know the agony of losing someone you loved too deeply for words.

So deeply that words, Loki’s territory, his greatest skill, had never been enough. There had never been any words that he could say that would explain how he had always felt for Fandral, no word that would name his place in Loki’s mind and in his heart.

Until _that_ word. The word that proved and undid everything.

_Soulmate._

Soulmate to a mortal, who would age and die in a few short centuries, leaving Loki with a severed bond and a shattered heart and an eternity of grief and pain.

_DAMN THE NORNS._

And damn his fool heart for loving Fandral for years now and tempting them with it. He should have left long ago. He should have left the moment he realized that he was growing far too close to this stupid mortal. Should have left when he realized he was surrounding himself with mortals he cared about too deeply, who would age and die long before Loki ever felt the ache of his bones.

So no, he had no desire to be here. He had desired to remain hidden from everyone, but even with magic that could blind Heimdall to his presence, his mother’s magic could find him. If not her eyes, then her missives. He’d been called back to Asgard, and for something as stupid as a welcoming feast for dignitaries. He’d be there to play nice with the dignitaries, to use his silver tongue to woo them and wow them and have them falling over themselves to please Asgard. He was quite good at persuasion when he wanted to be.

Not that he wanted to be. He didn’t _want_ to be _here._

He slowed his pace as he reached the entrance doors to the hall, schooled his expression into a kind of polite solemnity that suited the court, and gave a nod to the guards at the door, who opened it for him.

He stepped inside, and knew immediately that he had been _lied to._

His eyes flitted about the room, taking in the details. The way his parents were not sitting or standing near the throne. The way his idiot brother was grinning like a fool (nothing new there, actually). The lewd expression on Sif’s face. The way everyone was _watching him_ like they were waiting. The way that Fandral was bedecked in finery he rarely wore, and the crown of flowers on his head and…

Loki came to an abrupt halt five feet off from the group, his eyes narrowing.

No. They wouldn’t do this. They wouldn’t make a spectacle of _this._

He caught his mother’s eyes, saw her smile fall, and realized that yes, they absolutely would.

As if this was something to _celebrate._

Loki folded his hands behind his back, his eyes narrowing at the crowd cooly. “It appears I have been misinformed of this event’s purposes.” He bared his teeth in a tight grin. “I feel so underdressed.”

 

* * *

Fandral swallowed nervously and glanced back at Thor who gave him an encouraging nod and a tiny shove forward. He licked his suddenly very dry lips and shuffled a step forward.

Loki… looked _pissed_.

But Fandral had loved him for his whole life, from the very first day he’d set foot in the palace at Thor’s side. There had always been Loki, and always a hope - a feeling - in his heart that maybe Loki was the one meant for him. The one who would brighten his world of greys into a world filled with colours. But nothing had ever happened. Not until Loki turned blue, and Fandral could see it.

Loki had green eyes. Beautiful and like the emeralds he’d admired in some of the trinkets he’d collected, but they didn’t look as they usually did. There was no warmth, no glint of mischief in them. His outfit was all blacks and greens and golds, and Fandral wiggled his toes nervously. He’d dressed in blues and golds, and even though Loki was pissed off, he hoped that he noticed that they were fitting together already.

“L-Loki Odinson,” he said softly and cursed to himself at the way he stammered. “Uh, I…” he glanced back to Thor again, suddenly nervous. Panic was making itself known as a hot lump in his chest. But Thor just grinned at him and nodded again. “I want to… to offer you a bond,” he said as he turned back to face Loki and smiled at him, nerves suddenly eased. He could do this! The words - old as time itself - came easily then. “Our souls are connected, and our hearts beat the same. A bond is what I offer. My life and my love are what I will give. Loki Odinson of Asgard, do you accept my soul?”

* * *

He knew the words. _Of course_ he knew the words - every child did. It was the dream of many a youth to one day hear them spoken from the lips of their childhood crushes and secret loves. A pledge of soul meant for soul, of heart to heart and life to life and a forever-love that could never be shattered.

But it was a fucking lie.

Fandral’s soul was meant for Loki’s, and Loki’s was meant for him - of that there could be no denial. He could see colors now, where before, everything had been black and white and grey. Now, he could see that Fandral’s hair was the same color as the sands on the beaches of Vanaheim. His eyes were like the honey Loki liked in his tea, and like the sun rising warm into the morning, and a fire burning loyally in a hearth. He was dressed in gold, in a mirror to Loki, and the same blue that he now knew his skin to be. He was _beautiful._

And he was _mortal._

His soul could be Loki’s, and his heart. But their lives could never belong to one another, not truly. Fandral could spend his with Loki, and love him for all of it, but then he would die, and he would take Loki’s heart and love and soul with him. He would leave him only with eternity and the pain of knowing what he could never have again. Of knowing love, and being beloved, and of a world of colors, and having it all stripped away.

He had thought he was angry before, but he was suddenly _furious._ How dare they do this to him! Surely they realized what this would mean for him. Surely they _understood_ what Fandral being mortal _meant?_ Was it not enough that his children had been stolen from him? Now they would dangle this like a treat before him, well-knowing that it would be yanked away in a few centuries, _at best!_ The _most_ he could hope for would be four or five centuries of watching Fandral age and wither and die. Far more likely he would be killed in combat in two or fewer.

Damn them all. Tricking him into coming here and not even having the decency for a private conversation among family. Instead they make a spectacle of it in front of the whole court. No doubt in hopes that he will feel he _couldn’t_ refuse.

Clearly, they didn’t know him at all.

He pulled himself up to his full height - a difficult thing for a person to do when they were already standing hard at attention. He met Fandral’s eyes, and for a moment, the excitement there, the true feeling in those eyes, like honey and golden sunrises, made Loki’s heart ache with the sort of grief he wouldn’t have expected until _after_ Fandral had passed.

But that only reaffirmed his decision. If this is what he felt now, unconnected to Fandral by anything but friendship and a quiet love he’d intended to nurse forever in silence, then what he would feel after he bonded, when Fandral _did_ pass, would be infinitely worse.

Would be unbearable. _Unsurvivable._

And Loki was many things, and could be many things, but above all else, he was a _survivor._ Sometimes, that meant defending yourself even against those you loved.

“No.” He raised his chin and hardened his expression in a stony mask that would show them _nothing._ “I refuse.”

* * *

The thing with being an orphan, with being brought into the palace from the streets, was that he had no idea where he was originally from. Fandral knew he wasn’t a Midgardian mortal, he aged far too slowly for that. But he did age. He wasn’t Aesir. He wasn’t from Alfheim.

Apparently the easiest way to figure out where he was from was to have his soulmate reject him.

He heard Loki’s words. Heard the sounds of the people gathered around them, of Loki’s mother and father’s voices, of Sif and Thor shouting. But they sounded… muffled. Like he was holding his head underwater. The bracelets slipped from his numb fingers and hit the floor with a loud clattering noise that made the entire room fall silent. He didn’t look away from Loki’s face.

He _couldn’t_.

Loki was like a statue. Fandral thought he knew all the masks that the trickster could pull on, but this… he was like stone.

His eyes - and how long had Fandral spent imagining the colours in them? - were hard and unwavering. He could feel the stinging behind his own, felt the heat from the few tears that escaped and took a stumbling step backwards, the heel of his boot catching on the hem of his cloak as he moved and for the first time in almost ever, Fandral stumbled and tripped.

Thor caught him, a steadying arm under his elbow, but Fandral shook him off. His heart felt off. It felt like it should be racing, should be pounding against his ribs with all the pain he could feel but… it was slow. Steady, but slow. An aching kind of pain - like someone dragging a tiny blade slowly through his skin over his heart - had started.

_“No. I refuse.”_

“I have to - have to go,” he mumbled. “It - I have -” he shook his head and tried to open his shadowpaths. He tried again, and again. His seidr refused to answer him. Fandral held his hands up and stared at them, wiggling his fingers to try and encourage his magic, but nothing happened. He could still feel Loki’s eyes on him, and hear the muffled sounds of people still talking around him, but nothing made sense anymore.

His fingertips felt as though they’d been frozen, and were tingling with the sensation of feeling coming back, but it wasn’t _right_ . Fandral reached one shaking hand up to pull the crown of flowers from his head - _Love, Devotion, Eternal bonds_ \- and let it just fall to the floor. The rose blossoms released their scent when his foot crushed them and Fandral shook from head to toe as he brushed past an unmoving Loki to escape the room.

He had to get to his room. Fandral pressed a hand to where his chest ached and was unsurprised to see it come away bloody.

Apparently, he was Vanir.

* * *

 

Loki forced himself not to turn and watch Fandral leave. It was difficult. His eyes always seemed to follow the man, no matter what he was doing or where he went. But to do so now would be damning. To do so anymore…

No.

Long, slender fingers gripped his arm with the kind of hold Loki generally attributed to a manacle. He was unsurprised to see his mother there, her eyes hard and angry as he rarely saw them.

“Loki.”

He shrugged his arm from her grasp in a move that he knew would have him in trouble later, but right now, he couldn’t do this. He could not suffer the kind of cruel shock they had given him here and the grief that came with it, and then do battle with his _family_ to defend his fucking feelings.

“What did you expect?” he snapped at her, and he heard the silence that fell over the whole room. The angry flickering of his brother’s seidr snapped and crackled like lightning and Loki almost _wished_ Thor would strike him. It would give him a reason to physically lash out and he desperately wanted that.

In lieu of a physical fight, however, his tongue was a talented enough blade.

Loki raised his head with a sneer. “I suppose I should congratulate you all on your grand trick. Truly, a masterful lie. But then, you’ve had lots of practice.” He turned a sharp, angry glare on his mother when her hand wrapped around his arm again. After a moment of meeting his eyes with her own, she removed her hand and took a step back. He forced himself to ignore the way her fingers slipped together in a nervous fidgeting.

“Darling, you’ll want to go after him. To speak to him.”

“It’s funny how little you know me,” he spat at her, flinging his seidr around him. “But then, I’m not really your son, so why would you?” His seidr lashed back in, twisting his form.

A moment later, a raven winged its way out of the palace and shot into the skies. A crack of thunder was the only warning he had before the rain came pelted down in icy sheets and Loki gave an angry caw.

He winged his way southward, away from the palace, and it didn’t take him long before he was standing on a beach, his clothes absolutely soaked, and his skin blue, horns sprouting from his head. Thor’s fucking ice storm, and damn him. Didn’t he realize what he was asking Loki to _do?_

“But what does _my_ heart matter in the equation, _RIGHT?”_ he screamed at the sky. “What does it matter what Loki feels when the Norns sing _soulmates?”_ He growled and swiped water from his eyes. Rainwater. Not tears. He wasn’t fucking _crying._

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU’RE ASKING!?” He screamed as he flung his arms outward, and the ice came easily. It erupted from his fingers, the same blue of his skin, and ripped across the ocean, freezing the waves mid-crest. “DON’T YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND?! WHY DO I ONLY GET THE THINGS I CAN’T KEEP? HUH? ANSWER ME!” he screamed at the sky. “FUCKING TELL ME WHY!”

He dropped his arms to his sides. Why didn’t he get to keep anything he loved? Even his family wasn’t his. He’d had four beautiful children he didn’t get to keep. And then they want to hand him a soulmate who would only be his for so short a time. Everyone around him would have their forever with their soulmate, whether they were mortals living their short lives together or gods their eternity. And then there was Loki, who would, in the end, always be alone.

“Why even give me a soulmate?” he whispered. “Why not just tell me I’ll be alone. I could’ve lived with that. I _could’ve.”_ An eternity of waiting? Of hoping? He could have survived that.

But now he knew who his soulmate was. Now he knew how impossible it all was.

“You’re cruel. You’re all so fucking cruel.” He sat down in the center of the frozen ocean and leaned against a high wave, feeling the reverberation of his horns striking the ice. He trailed his fingertips over the broken markings on his hands. The ones the Jotun had explained meant _he hadn’t belonged._ He hadn’t belonged, and so he’d been given away.

Loki sniffed and wiped his eyes, cursing his cold skin as the tears froze on his cheeks. He wanted his forever, too. But forever didn’t exist, not for him.

He really _was_ the God of Lies.

* * *

 

The tingling was spreading slowly. It was just past his nail bed now. His hands shook and trembled, and unlacing the stupid fancy tunic felt like it took forever. Fandral gave up in the end and slit it with a knife, tossing the remains into the corner of his room to be forgotten with his cloak and the stupid fancy boots and leggings all tossed after it.

He wiped carefully with a damp cloth at the blood over his heart and winced at the feeling of warm soapy water in a fresh cut. The mirror fogged slightly with the heat from the bowl of water, but Fandral just swiped his hand over it. Cut deeply into the skin, silver glinting from the edges and inside the wounds themselves, were Loki’s words.

_No. I refuse._

Cut forever with silver into his skin.

The Rejection took each race differently. The elves of Alfheim would slip into a comatose state from which they would never awaken. The Midgardians would pine and fret until their hearts gave out, refusing all comforts and necessities. Aesir would become reckless and dangerous, berserker like until they were struck down. And the Vanir…

He traced a finger through the sluggishly dripping blood and followed the curve of Loki’s words, the silver that was filling the wounds. The Vanir would be cut with the words of their rejection. Their heartbeats would slow more and more until their bodies simply… shut down. They wouldn’t eat, drink or sleep, their minds twisting as they tried to survive. And this was what Loki had doomed him to.

A slow, agonising death with no relief. There would be nothing to ease his discomfort. Nothing that would make his heart beat regularly again. The numbness would spread, and he would suffer through insanity and die.

“Our souls are connected, and our hearts beat the same. A bond is what I offer. My life and my love are what I will give,” he whispered to his reflection. His seidr was gone, the place inside of him where he could usually feel it was empty and frozen. Fandral sighed. He’d hoped to take his shadowpaths and hide himself away to die with some dignity alone.

“No. I refuse,” he murmured and moved to his bed, curling naked beneath the silk sheets he’d bought for he and Loki to sleep beneath. That he’d spread over his bed just that morning with a grin and a song on his lips, imagining he and Loki beneath them together, bonded and happy. “No. I refuse.”

* * *

He curled up on the surface of the frozen ocean, half-wanting it to thaw and swallow him down into the waters and cast him over the edge of Asgard. It didn’t, though. It seemed one thing he was good at was freezing things. The fucking water was frozen so thick, he couldn’t tell how far down the ice went, but the waves were frozen solid.

He’d created a fucking landmass of ice from a temper tantrum, and he didn’t feel a bit better than he had.

He thought about getting up, opening a doorway to Yggdrasil and finding some quiet corner of the world to hide away in for the next few centuries, like he had originally planned. It seemed like too much work now, though, when it would be far easier to simply lie here.

His mother’s words came back to him. “Darling, you’ll want to go after him. To speak to him.” And the worst part was, Loki _did_ want to go to Fandral. But he wanted to do more than speak to him. He wanted to accept him. He wanted to bond with him. He wanted to have their four hundred or five hundred or ten simple year love and romance. He _wanted_ that.

He wanted forever, but he wanted _that,_ too. Or he’d settle for it.

 _It will hurt, though,_ he told himself. _In the end, it will gut you. It will take everything from you._

**_You could have that. You could be loved like that, even for a little while._ **

_It will kill you, in the end._

It would kill them both in the end. He huffed out a laugh. So was that it? A god made soulmate to a mortal, and so the god would become a mortal.

Could he do that? Become mortal and live a shortened life, a minuscule life, with Fandral? Bond with him, age alongside him, grow old and eventually die? Could he do that?

He thought… yes. He thought he probably could. A short life was still a life, and loved… it would be worth it, if he could have his forever love with him.

But what if he was wrong? What if that wasn’t how it worked and he would have to watch Fandral age while he stayed young? Could he do that? Could he survive that? Not physically. Physically, he knew he could survive watching Fandral die. The thief was not the first mortal Loki had known who had passed, nor the first he had loved. But in his heart, in his mind, could he survive watching Fandral wither and die if he was forced to go on without him?

He didn’t think he could. If his immortality remained a true and certain thing, he didn’t think his mind would remain so. He wasn’t sure, if he lost his love, if his heart would have any bit of it left that _could_ love. And how would that be fair? Not just to himself or to Asgard, but to the rest of the cosmos? He could be cruel when angered, capricious when in a mischievous mood, but _heartless?_ Even he shuddered at the thought.

No. No, he needed to be _certain._ If mortality was the price, then he would pay it gladly. But he had to be certain that mortality is what he would get. If not… if not, then he would simply go away and live a life away from Asgard for however long it took for his soulmate to live out his own life. It would be better that way.

He wanted his forever, though. Even if his forever was only four hundred years.

Loki opened a doorway to Yggdrasil and leapt onto the waiting branch. He would go to Vanaheim. They boasted the best library in all nine realms. If there was an answer, it would be there.

* * *

His fingers were numb now to the second knuckle. Food and drink held no appeal or interest to him anymore. Thor and Sif, Frigga and Eir too, would all hold glasses of juices and water to his lips, beg him to just take a sip but he didn’t see the point. In some part of his mind, Fandral understood that it was the Rejection talking, but he didn’t have the strength to fight against it.

The beating of his heart sounded wearier and wearier every day, and Eir had taken to randomly resting her head on his chest as he sat listlessly in a chair by the window. Thor never left him alone, and Fandral had no idea how long it had been since Loki left. To him, it felt like months, but he was aware enough to know that it could have been only as long as a few hours to a few days.

He’d woken sometime after the bond was rejected, and found Loki’s words had begun to appear on his body. Loki’s flowing script, always so tidy and precise, covered his chest and stomach and had begun to crawl up his neck and arms.

 _No. I refuse_.

Vanir Rejection was awful. Fandral knew that he was dying. He just wished it would go faster. Everytime he turned his head, he hoped to see Loki standing there, hand held out to accept him after all and put an end to this.

But every time the room was empty. Thor was beside him, running a washcloth over Fandral’s back when he heard the thunderer gasp. “Fandral,” he whispered, and one big hand brushed over his back. “ _Ó, bróðir minn_ , what is this?”

Fandral could feel the itching on his skin of the words appearing again and again, and sighed. “Tis the Vanir Rejection,” he said simply. “Nothing is to be done, Thor. If I’m lucky, my heart will simply give out before I go mad.”

 _“You won’t be that lucky, you know.”_ Fandral whipped his head to the side and caught the barest glimpse of green and gold cloth fluttering out of sight. He hung his head and sighed again, shoulders hunching over as he muttered, “Too late, I suppose.”

Thor made a choked sound behind him, hands faltering over his skin before gently resuming their careful cleaning. Fandral was just grateful that only the first words had bled.

Time had no meaning. He slept when he was told. Turned his head from food but accepted bitter juice. He watched as his muscles slowly faded and wondered just how long it had been. His knowledge of Vanir Rejection was scarce, as he’d honestly thought that perhaps he was some form of Kree. But he knew that losing track of time, that the sensation of _more_ time passing than had actually done so was just another Vanir quirk.

Of all the Realms races, the Vanir and the Midgardians were the ones to suffer the most before they died. Fandral had suspected once, long ago, that it was because it was so uncommon for their bonds to be rejected. Midgardians adored their soulmates. Vanir were a family orientated people - his own parents clearly being an exception - and it was almost unheard of for a Vanir bond to be rejected. Fandral had researched all of them as he tried to discover who he was, but there was very little information on the Vanir and the Dwarves. He’d been fairly confident he wasn’t a dwarf, and had simply skimmed the rest.

He blinked and tried to focus back on what Thor was saying. He’d clearly been talking for a while. Fandral just nodded and Thor sighed loudly. The sky outside rumbled and the clouds somehow grew darker still, and Fandral watched in awe at the swirling mass of bright green and purple in them.

He wished he couldn’t see the colours at all. Wished that he’d never thought that surprising Loki with all his family and their friends as he asked for a bond he was so sure that Loki wanted too was a good idea. All he’d wanted to do was show Loki how special he was. To show him that no matter what, Fandral and his family and their friends all accepted and loved him anyway.

Frigga had been so excited as they’d hung the flowers and woven his crown. Odin had gruffly declared him Fandral Asgardson, so he would have a name of his own to offer Loki. Thor had been ecstatic, bounding about from job to job after he’d tracked his brother down, and Sif had wept tears of joy for him in a rare show of emotion.

It had never occured to any of them that Loki would say no. That instead of watching the two of them bond and to see the marks of their souls appear on one another, that Loki would reject him and Fandral would die. Slowly, painfully and mad with it.

 _“No more than you deserve really. What an awful idea to spring on me,_ **_Shadow_ **.”

Fandral let Thor tip water over his head as he washed out the shampoo and tried to hide his tears in the warm water cascading over his face. Loki was sitting at the end of the tub, dressed only in his leggings and swinging a single foot through the edge of the bathtub.

 _“You’re dying, and I don’t care!”_ Loki sing-songed and Fandral shuffled back in the water towards Thor.

“Help me out... please,” he whispered. “I-I’m done.”

Thor gently lifted him out and helped him to dry off with a pile of fluffy towels, dressed him in loose pants and a tunic that Fandral recognised as Thor’s and tucked him back into bed. Fandral didn’t bother to mention that Loki was sitting on the pillows behind Thor, deliberately flicking balls of Fandral’s blue seidr through his hands.

He missed his magic. Missed feeling the warmth of it inside of him, missed the feeling and skill needed to walk his shadowpaths and leap from door to door as he wanted. Missed his freedom and the feeling in his fingers. The numbness had spread again and Fandral realised he wouldn’t ever move them again. Thor was reading to him from a book that Frigga had given him describing the meanings of flowers throughout the realms. Fandral didn’t have the heart to tell him the reason he had that book was because he’d wanted to make sure that Loki understood how seriously he meant his offer of a bond. Loki had always loved the language of flowers and plants, and Fandral had simply wanted to show him that he knew that.

That he knew Loki.

The Loki behind Thor’s pillows scoffed loudly. _“You clearly don’t know me at all, Fandral the Dashing. Not much of a thief anymore, though, are you? Not really that stealthy anymore either. I saw how you tripped on your cloak when I rejected you. I haven’t seen you do that since we were children!”_ Fandral ducked his head and tried to muffle the sound of his tears.

His heartbeat slowed just a little again, and Fandral discovered he could almost count a full half-minute between beats now. Eir was going to be so mad.

Thor reached a hand out to rest on his knee, and Fandral closed his eyes. Loki, thankfully, faded away after a moment, and he let his head lean on Thor’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For staying with me now. I don’t think it’ll be terribly long.” He nuzzled his cheek on Thor’s muscled shoulder and pressed a kiss to the bicep under his face. “ _Ég elska þig, bróðir hjarta míns._ ”

_No. I refuse._

Fandral sighed and closed his eyes against the sound of Loki’s rejection and Thor’s barely muffled sobs.

He was _tired_ . _  
_

* * *

Immortality, it turned out, was a curse. Even a god soulmated to a human would not be granted mortality by their bonding. Loki had learned that from his searches. They were meant for forever and forever would not be denied them. 

  
But there was more that he had learned that he had not meant to search for. Loki had never researched the Rejections of the different races. He had always thought, when he was offered his forever-love, that he would have no reason to reject them.  
  
Vanaheim boasted the greatest library in the realms, however, and the details of the Rejection bonds were... quite thorough.  
  
What Loki did not know was what race Fandral was. The man had been an orphan when he was brought to the palace, dragged in by an eager Thor who refused to take no for an answer.  
  
He looked nothing like a dwarf and his slow aging in comparison meant he was not Midgardian, but beyond that, there was no telling.  
  
Except, of course, for the bond.  
  
_And you, fool, never even thought about it,_ he hissed to himself as he read through the different effects again. Soulmate Rejections inevitably all ended in death, of course, for how could one live without the other half of their soul?  
  
It seemed unfair to Loki that only the Rejected would die, when it would be kinder to take two meant to be together at the same time.  
  
_”You’ll want to go to him,”_ Frigga had said, and Loki sighed.  
  
Immortality, and bonded to a mortal. There had to be a way.  
  
His eyes scanned the shelves, searching the spines for answers, but he knew he wouldn’t find them here. What was his question, anyway?  
  
_Is there a way to make me mortal?_ A terrifying question, but true. Was there a way?  
  
If there was, he knew of only one man who would know it.  
  
Loki opened a doorway and stepped onto a branch, and hesitated.  
  
_”You’ll want to go to him.”_  
  
He did, of course. He wanted very badly. But he wanted to go to Fandral with an answer, with a way to stay with him forever - however long their forever was.  
  
The knife wound in his back gave a phantom throb but Loki ignored it. He would be quick. The faster he found an answer, the faster he could return to Fandral.  
  
He slipped onto Yggdrasil’s branches and let his feet carry him to Knowhere. He had a Collector to see. 

* * *

Thor was still reading, the sky was still stormy and dark, and Fandral had lost the feeling in his toes now too. He could count exactly thirty-seven seconds between heartbeats, and Eir had cried.

Frigga brought him massive yellow flowers from Midgard she called Sunflowers to cheer him up. They were lovely to look at, but his eyes didn’t seem to want to focus much now. Fandral wondered often how long it had been, but no one would tell him. Their silence made him think it hadn’t been all that long, really.

He’d woken from his sleep and tried to speak to Thor but the only thing he could say now was Loki’s Rejection.

“Fandral,” Thor whispered to him. “Brother. Will you take some water?”

“No,” he murmured. “I refuse.”

The sky somehow grew darker still and Fandral counted forty-one seconds between his heartbeats now. His eyes itched and burned, but he had no tears left now. He was empty. A shell waiting to fade away.

Thor sighed softly and set the glass down on the bedside table, beside he cleared his throat and kept reading. Fandral let his gaze focus on the bonding bracelets at his side. Sif had brought them.

Fandral wished he could knock them away.

* * *

“Why would a god wish to become mortal?”

The Collector, Taneleer Tivan, was a man who had learned the art of being creepy and then perfected it. He was a collector of oddities and things of great power.  
  
And he frightened Loki for reasons he had never been able to explain.  
  
He’d met the man only twice before, both times while in search of something, and once with Fandral at his side. The thief had introduced them. Loki wouldn’t say the two were friends of any sort, but the collector seemed to respect the thief. That, at least, was something.  
  
“My soulmate is mortal,” he said with quiet respect. “And I do not wish to watch them wither and die and then go on through my eternity nurse heartbreak.”  
  
The Collector hummed. “Why not simply give them one of your Apples, then? Would that not solve the issue?”  
  
Loki shook his head, but didn’t explain. The Apples could not be handed out at a thought. They had to be _earned,_ and what earned them was at the discretion of the apples themselves, and the trees they grew upon. There was no guarantee that Fandral would ever be granted one, and Loki wanted a guarantee.  
  
He wanted his forever. 

* * *

 


	2. Ending One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ending One.  
> The Sad Ending.

Fandral was numb to his elbows and knees now, the tingling and prickling feeling never easing. His heart was slowing with each passing hour, and Eir, Thor or even Frigga now, constantly had a hand resting on his chest.

His stomach had stopped hurting from lack of food, but his lips were dry and cracked with dehydration. Thor kept trying to tempt him into sipping from glasses of his favourite juices, of wine or milk - _anything_ \- to make him drink, but it all just tasted like nothing to Fandral. There was no point. Even the colours he’d so loved just a few days - weeks? - ago were fading back to shades of grey and black. The reds of Thor’s tunic were dimmed, barely more than a wash of pale colour over grey. The bright yellow of Frigga’s gown looked more white than yellow now, and Fandral wished that he could see Loki’s eyes one last time. That he could see that beautiful green he could barely remember now.

“Fandral?” He turned his head to Thor’s voice with a wince. Moving was painful now. “ _Ástkæra bróðir minn_ , won’t you try just a little?” He tipped a glass of something against Fandral’s lips, and he could feel the moisture but tasted nothing.

He shook his head as best he could. Thor sighed and moved the glass away, returning his hand to rest over Fandral’s heart, his other coming to trace Loki’s words as they appeared on his neck and on his right cheek. They were appearing more frequently now, almost in time with each sluggish heartbeat. His arms and legs were covered, over and over. His chest and neck were almost totally silver, and Fandral knew that it was only a matter of time now before his face was too.

_No. I refuse._

He’d been such a fucking fool. Been naive enough to think that Loki would want him for a soulmate. Stupid enough to think that going to Frigga and asking for her help in planning the surprise bonding proposal for Loki was a good idea.

He’d just been so fucking stupid.

Thor was speaking again, but his voice just sounded like dull rumbles of thunder now. There was no more sense to the words, just sound. But even so, it was still nice to listen to. He could hear the higher pitch of Eir’s voice and the gentle tone of Frigga’s. But the one he wanted to hear, the one he knew would sound like home, never came. Fandral sighed and wanted to close his eyes, but Eir pressed her fingers to his head and murmured soft words to him. He thought she might have been telling him to keep them open.

Thor rumbled something else, and Fandral tipped his head to rest on Thor’s chest. His heartbeat was steady and regular under his ear and Fandral found it soothing to listen to. A normal, steady thumping that his heart would never achieve again. He could hear the rain as it pelted against the windows, hear the deep rolls of thunder and feel Thor’s chest vibrate beneath his head as he spoke softly to either he or his mother. Eir moved back into his line of sight, and Fandral tried to smile at her, but he wasn’t sure it worked.

All he’d ever wanted, for as long as he could remember, was to belong somewhere. To have his soulmate find him, love him and want him. To have a family of his own, and learn where it was that he’d come from. _Why_ he’d been orphaned. Thor had brought him into the palace on a whim, he knew that. The Prince had thought he was amusing and clever to be able to escape as he had using the shadows of the realms. Even Fandral didn’t understand how they worked, just that he was the only one who could use them. The only one who could open them and walk them safely. Others had tried but they always came back with limbs missing or more.

But not him. And now… he’d never know why. Never be able to find out who he was, or why he could do the things he could. And he’d never find out why Loki had rejected him so.  

He’d just wanted to show Loki that no matter what he looked like, no matter where he was from originally or anything else… that Fandral loved him. That he wanted him. And that Frigga and Odin, Thor and Sif all loved him and wanted him too.

He’d just wanted to show Loki that he mattered to all of them.

Instead… he’d made a fool of himself, and Loki too. He could see that now. Could see that Loki would have walked in and felt ambushed, felt pressured. This was all his fault.

Fandral groaned as the itching on his face spread again and Loki’s words traced themselves over his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. Thor’s big hands moved, rubbing soothing circles over his skin as they spread, but Fandral turned his head away. He was too tired now. Didn’t want the soothing. Didn’t want to feel the last kind touches he was going to feel. The numbness was creeping up towards his thighs and collarbone now, and he just wanted it to be done.

Thor said something, yelled it almost, and Fandral sighed. The door had opened again, he could hear the faint sounds of Eir and Frigga speaking, felt the rumbles in Thor’s chest as he raised his voice and closed his eyes against it as the itching began again over his lips and cheeks.

 _No. I refuse_.

* * *

Tivan nodded. “And to receive this means of making yourself mortal, what would you give?”  
  
Loki frowned at him. “What do you want?” The moment he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say. One did not offer a man like the Collector anything, for he would take all he could.  
  
“If I grant you the means of removing your immortality, then I _want it._ You will never ask for it back, nor covet it, nor even consider it existent to long for. It will be mine.”  
  
Loki blinked. Was that all? He had no intention of taking the immortality back. He didn’t want it. He wanted to be mortal, so he could be with Fandral forever.  
  
“Accepted,” he said.  
  
Taneleer held out a hand with a toothy grin. “Just to be sure.”  
  
Loki sighed and slid his hand into Tivan’s. He felt the binding of an agreement, a deal, snap into place and grimaced at the weight of it. He hated carrying around deals.  
  
“Now then, let’s get started.” The man slipped around a table and plucked a small device from a box that looked like nothing more than a small ball of metal, about the size of a lemon.  
  
“How long will it take?”  
  
“Nothing more than a couple days,” Tivan said, bringing the device over. He held it in front of Loki and he was mildly horrified to see it twitch like a living thing, and then one end opened, displaying teeth.  
  
“I’m afraid this will hurt quite a bit,” he said, and let go of the device. It ignored gravity and shot forward, sinking its teeth into Loki’s chest.  
  
He didn’t think he had ever felt such pain. The darkness of unconsciousness came quickly, and was an immense relief.

* * *

He woke up an indeterminable time later, and everything felt wrong. 

Heavy. And dull.  
  
It took him a moment to realize the dull part wasn’t only a feeling. The world was grey and black and white, with the barest tinge of color brushed across the world.  
  
He was losing his ability to see color.  
  
Loki struggled to his feet, but everything hurt. He felt weighed down, as though he was trying to hold up the sea, and his body _ached._ Even his lungs hurt, every breath cold and sharp in his chest.  
  
Even when he made it to his feet, he had to lean against the wall to keep himself on his feet. What... what was wrong with him?  
  
“Mortality,” came Tivan’s thoughtful voice. “I understand it is painful. After all, you are actively dying, each moment that passes. It sounds... terrible.”  
  
Loki looked up at him, feeling like his head weighed as much as the world. The Collector swam into view, and when Loki blinked tiredly at him, the man gave a bow. “Pleasure doing business with you.”  
  
Loki watched him go, turning and leaving through a door, and only then did he realize he wasn’t in the Collector’s museum anymore. He was outside, in some alley, and he had to wonder how long he had been left to lie there in the filth like a drunken wastrel.  
  
He looked around for a minute, feeling tired and confused. Feeling... very confused.  
  
“Heimdall?” he called wearily. “Can you... bring me home?”  
  
There was a long moment where nothing happened, and then the Bifrost lit up around him. Loki’s feet left the ground, and when they touched down again, he staggered and dropped onto his ass.  
  
This wasn’t what mortals felt like all of the time, was it? How did they live like this?  
  
There was a guard standing there in front of him and Loki blinked stupidly at him.  
  
“Prince Loki, I am to bring you to your mother.”  
  
Loki shook his head. “No. No, I need to see Fandral.  
  
There was an unreadable expression on the guard’s face but he nodded. “He is with your mother.”  
  
Loki sighed. “Very well, then. Lead on.”

* * *

Fandral didn’t open his eyes again.

The guard who had told them of the Bifrost’s activation had been sent running after Thor bellowed at him to get himself gone, and Frigga and Eir had had a frantic and hushed conversation in the corner before sending the guard away. Thor looked over at the door and sighed. Loki had touched down in the Bifrost, but something had been off about him. The guard had said he was walking slowly along the rainbow bridge, a walk that Thor knew would take a good half-hour.

Fandral never moved again, didn’t make another sound. Thor sat in silence with Eir, Sif and his mother as Fandral’s heart gave one last beat and then fell still and silent in his chest. Loki’s Rejection was written all over his skin, and Eir reached over when more than a minute had passed to rest her ear on his chest. She waited another five before she spoke, voice thick with grief and tears running down her cheeks.

“He’s gone.”

Thor hoped that when Loki arrived, he was happy. Happy that he’d let Fandral suffer, let him fall to madness and death. Hoped that he would be happy living for eternity alone.

“Will you stay?” Thor blinked up at his mother and she gently wiped at the tears he hadn’t noticed.

He shook his head. “I cannot… I will see his karve sent on, but I cannot.”

They looked over in unison at the soft knock on the door, and Eir drew the sheet up over Fandral’s face. “Let him in,” she hissed. “Let this be done.”

* * *

He was not so wrapped up in the pain of his body that he didn’t notice the looks he was receiving. There was a lot of anger, but there was also pity, and he didn’t understand that. They couldn’t know what he had done, so why were they looking at him so? 

The guard kept pace with him, which couldn’t have been easy. Loki had begun to suspect that the pain he was feeling was only the unfamiliarity of mortality. He was not accustomed to the pains mortals knew from the moment of their birth, and so the aches were near debilitating. He would get used to it, and it would be worth it.  
  
It seemed to take forever, but they finally reached the door to Fandral’s room. Loki tugged nervously at his tunic before knocking lightly on the door. He’d wanted to speak to Fandral alone first, before dealing with anyone else, but if his mother was here... well, he would simply have to ignore her until he was ready to confront her.  
  
The door opened and he blinked in surprise to see Frigga standing there, her eyes red and wet.  
  
“Mother?” He blinked wearily at her. “I need to speak to Fandral.”  
  
Frigga’s eyes closed. “Oh, Loki,” she murmured, and stepped away from the door, turning her back to him.  
  
Loki frowned but pushed the door open, taking in Eir’s presence, and her dishevelment, with a glance that made his guts churn. And Thor was there, which wasn’t unexpected. Nor was his brother’s fury, rolling off him like heat and lightning.  
  
But where Fandral should have been, there was only a sheet. Loki’s fingers twitched at the sight of it. Just a... sheet. That was all. That was all.  
  
“Fandral?” he whispered, and his voice came out far more like a whine than he had intended. Where was Fandral? He should have been here, but there was only a sheet. Only...  
  
He looked away from the slopes and curves of the fabric, the way it fell as though it were covering something.  
  
His heart started to pound far too quickly in his chest. Odd. That had never hurt before, but now he could feel every heavy beat.  
  
“Eir?” he asked, because why was the healer here? Why? Surely no one needed a healer. And where was Fandral? Where...  
  
Loki swallowed hard, his eyes going back to that sheet of their own accord. He felt his lips tremble and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. “I don’t understand. Why... why isn’t Fandral here?”

* * *

“He is exactly where you left him, Loki,” Thor was barely refraining from screaming. “He’s right fucking here!”

Loki seemed different somehow, but Thor couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when he’d just spent the last few days watching a man he loved as a brother waste away and die in his arms. Not when it was Loki’s fault that he’d just cared for Fandral until his broken heart gave out.

Frigga rested a soft hand on his shoulder, and Thor took a deep, shuddering breath. “He’s right here,” he whispered. “I cared for him since you so obviously did not. I sat with him through his madness. I soothed the pain of your Rejection as it turned his skin to silver. And through it all, Loki, not once did he say a bad word against you. He was better than you will ever hope to be.”

Thor reached over and very gently turned the sheet down to show Fandral’s peaceful face. The thin, flowing silver script of Loki’s words covered nearly his entire face now - his eyelids, nose, lips and cheeks, they were almost completely silver.

“This is your Rejection, Loki.” Thor pushed himself away from the bed and staggered over to Eir. “Enjoy your eternity alone, _little brother_ ,” he snarled. “Do not expect to see me for it.”

* * *

He didn’t understand. 

“But... he was fine?” He knew the Rejection was terrible but it always took a while, didn’t it? It was always slow? He’d thought it was slow.  
  
“I don’t understand. It’s... I should have had _weeks_. It always takes weeks.”  
  
Frigga sighed and when Loki looked at her, the expression on her face was so disappointed he had to look away. “Loki... Fandral was mortal.”  
  
Mortal, with a life so much shorter. So, of course, the Rejection was much shorter too.  
  
Loki slumped to the floor, his legs simply giving out beneath him. He blinked in confusion at his change of position, tried to get back up, and found it too painful. He leaned back against the wall and stared at Fandral’s face from where he sat. Covered in silver words in Loki’s script. _No. I refuse._  
  
“But I was fixing it.” He frowned, staring at Fandral’s face. He wanted the man to open to eyes, to look at Loki so he could explain. “Fandral? I was fixing it.”  
  
Fandral didn’t open his eyes of course, and Loki looked down at his hands. He opened his mouth, then closed it, lifting his head to look at Eir.  
  
“It’s not a trick? Not a lie?” He didn’t have the energy to read the expression on her face. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

* * *

Thor didn’t move his head from Eir’s shoulder, the healers hands moving slowly through the mess of his hair. He felt her sigh.

“He’s really gone, Loki,” she said quietly. “He suffered until he couldn’t.”

Thor’s eyes burned and he pressed harder into her shoulder, sobs choking him and his throat aching with the force they were wrenching themselves out with.

Loki said something, but he couldn’t hear him anymore. He rubbed his face against Eir’s shoulder, and she pressed her hands into his hair to hold him there.

“You did so well, sweetpea,” she whispered to him. “You cared for him so well, Thor.”

He managed to turn his head, to see where Loki had moved a little closer to the bed, closer to Fandral’s still form. He could see the way the light hit the silver of Loki’s words, remembered the panic he’d felt when he watched them etch themselves into his skin while he sat in the bathtub.

“He was mortal, but he was ours. He was family,” Thor murmured. “He deserved a better end than to die Rejected and unloved.”

* * *

Loki didn’t say anything to Thor. Couldn’t. Closer to Fandral, he could see that his words were scarred into Fandral’s skin, not once or twice, but over and over again. 

No. I refuse. No. I refuse. No. I refuse.  
  
_You did this,_ his mind told him. _You carved the words into him._  
  
“I thought I’d have more time,” he whispered.  
  
_That didn’t excuse what you did. You killed him. He’s gone. And now you’ll be alone._  
  
Loki reached out a hand and touched Fandral’s hair. It was a light grey again. The gold, all the color, had gone.  
  
At least it won’t be forever.  
  
He mulled over what Thor had said, about not being here, and he understood that his... that Thor planned on leaving. Loki closed his eyes, slumping onto the bed. His hand reached out absently and he curled his fingers around Fandral’s. The thief didn’t react. He’d never react again.  
  
“Thor,” he murmured, not opening his eyes or bothering to look at the other man. “You stay here with... your family. I’ll leave.” He gripped Fandral’s hand tightly. He would go... somewhere. It didn’t matter. A few centuries was nothing to a god, and he’d lived too long as one to see even four hundred years as a long time. It would be just a blink and he’d leave this world behind.  
  
“I’ll go,” he said, and raised Fandral’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “Your family needs you here, so you stay.”  
  
He pushed himself to his feet, tucking the thief’s hand back beneath the sheet, tucking it around him as thought Fandral were only sleeping. It was a nice thought, but nothing more than a lie. Like forever.

* * *

“You will do no such thing,” Thor growled and lifted his head from Eir’s shoulder. He straightened his back and stared his brother down. “You will stay right where you are. You may not have loved him enough to bond with him, but you did _this_ . And you will stay and help us to prepare him and his karve. You will stand at the shore of Asgard and you will watch your daughter collect his soul. You _owe_ him that, at least,” he spat. “At least pretend to have some honour left in you.”

Thor kissed Eir’s cheek and stomped back to the bed. He pulled the sheet down roughly and showed Loki just what his rejection had done. The wound above Fandral’s heart that had never healed, never stopped bleeding. The words, over and over and over all across his skin.

“He _never_ said a bad word against you, Loki,” he said viciously. “The very least you will do is to remain here. You will stay here with our mother and you will enjoy your life as you so obviously wanted to. You will not leave. _I_ am leaving. Tis I who now needs space.” He looked at Loki and shook his head. “I do not know what you’ve done to yourself, but I hope that you know now what you’ve done to _him_ . To _me_.”

He carefully pulled the sheet back up to Fandral’s chin, and scrubbed a harsh hand over his mouth. “I will meet you back here shortly,” he said softly. “I will fetch his things from my rooms to dress him. He - he picked them out already.”

Thor didn’t look back as he left the room to collect the small box of things Fandral had asked him to put in his karve.

* * *

Loki watched Thor go with a quiet sigh. He would stay for Fandral’s karve-burning, of course. He’d not intended to leave before that. Fandral... he deserved that. He deserved so much more than that. 

But Loki would not stay beyond that. It did not matter what Thor thought he deserved or was required from him as penance. And he did not care what they thought of him. He would not force his mother... the queen, who he would always love as his mother, even if he did not deserve her - he would not force her to watch him age and die.  
  
He knew the pain of such a thing. He had denied Fandral and fled to avoid such a fate. He would not force it on another. They had already suffered this.  
  
His finger’s traced over the words carved into Fandral’s skin. “I didn’t mean them, not as you thought,” he whispered softly to the thief. “It was not for lack of love. Only I am a coward, Fandral. I always have been.”  
  
The thief had no comforting words for him and Loki only continued tracing over the words, thinking of one’s he might wish to replace them, if he could. Here beautiful, and there clever, and over there gentle and kind. Loyal and stubborn and enduring and much too forgiving. Beloved.  
  
He wished he had done things differently. He wished... for so many things. He wished he had been kinder. He wished...  
  
_Hel, darling?_ he thought softly, as his fingers trailed through Fandral’s hair, easing out the tangles. _Hel, I wonder if you wouldn’t grant your foolish mother a favor._  
  
She didn’t respond but he could feel that she was listening. He began to twist braids into Fandral’s hair.  
  
_Sweetheart, I only have a mortal life now. It’s a short thing, but it doesn’t change that Fandral and I are soulmates. We... have a bond, even unrealized, and he will be missed so much more than I. Could I... let him have my life, won’t you, Hel? Let me come be with you, my darling, and let Thor have the better brother back with him. I will go elsewhere and they need never know, but I... I love him, darling, and this was cruel. Hel, please? I would pledge myself into your debt, even, if that would sway the Norns. Only let him live, darling. He didn’t deserve this. None of them did._

* * *

Hel sighed as her mother’s words echoed throughout the realm. Damn him for even asking.

“I’m sorry, mama,” she whispered back. “It’s not within my power to do so. The Norns control the threads of fate, I am only one who reads them. I am not a weaver, mama. You will--” she paused and tried to think of the kindest way to speak the truth. It was always so much more painful, somehow. “You will live,” she said eventually, “and you will die as a mortal. I cannot change that. But… perhaps if you are lucky, if his soul still seeks yours, you may find him here.”

She could feel her mother’s grief, his regret and his _guilt_ resonating through her bones. Her poor mother. Always so afraid, always missing the bigger picture.

“You could have had something beautiful,” Hel murmured and traced a delicate fingertip over the spiderweb weavings of her mama’s tapestry. “I am sorry mama. So very sorry.”

* * *

It was that confirmation, that he could not even do _this_ , that finally broke Loki. 

There were no tears. There was no collapse. But Loki just... stopped. Part of him wanted to rage against the Norns. Part of him wanted to beg them. But it had long since become clear that they were cruel and uncaring, and they would not waste time on Loki. They had offered him a brief love and endless grief, and for that they were generous. And he was a fool.  
  
He would not tell his family of his mortality. He would not do that to them. He would endure Thor’s anger, deserved as it was, and his mother’s disappointment, and the emotions he could not read on Eir’s face. He would help Thor prepare Fandral, and he would braid his hair in the Vanir style, for Vanir was what he was. And a language that Thor did not know, so he could speak true only words his mother would be able to read, and she would never speak of them.  
  
He would stand and watch as Fandral’s karve was sent off and burned, as his soul left for better places. And then he would disappear.  
  
He hoped Thor would not stay away long. He should be with his mother and father, with people who loved him and could be there for him in his grief. There was nothing Loki could do that would help Thor. He would only hurt him.  
  
_You are cruel,_ he thought at the Norns. _If you had any mercy, you would let Fandral live now and damn me to the deepest pit. He deserves his family. He deserves to be loved by someone who would appreciate him, or at least to have Thor and his family._  
  
He knew better than to think he could goad them into acting, though. They would do as they wanted, no more and no less.  
  
Loki continued to comb out Fandral’s hair with fingers and seidr. He would wait until he saw Fandral’s soul depart, and then he would leave. Go somewhere quiet where no one would find him. Or perhaps to Midgard, and find a place among the other mortals, until the end.

* * *

No matter how many times in his life he’d dressed a fallen friend, it never got easier. Fandral’s clothes that he had chosen were his favourites. His thieving leathers, oiled and soft as satin, silent as he had been. His favourite cloak, the one he’d worn when Loki Rejected him. And a few trinkets he’d asked to take with him. A necklace snatched from a princess who had ignored Thor’s requests to leave him be. A music box that played Frigga’s favourite tune. One of Eir’s old robes. Sif’s silk scarf she thought had been lost.

And the bonding gift he’d had made for Loki.

 _“It doesn’t… feel right,”_ he’d whispered to Thor. _“To leave them behind. He doesn’t want me. He won’t want these.”_

Thor stood with his back straight and tears unashamedly rolling down his cheeks as he nocked and drew the burning arrow, watched with unblinking eyes as it struck true and Fandral’s karve ignited with a soft whooshing sound.

He watched as the last golden sparks of Fandral’s soul found their freedom before he turned to Loki. “I am passing Asgard’s judgement on you,” he said in a quiet voice. This was for Loki to hear, and no other. “You are forbidden to leave. Mother has bound your seidr and sealed Yggdrasil to you. You will remain here until such a time as I or Sif see fit to free you. You will have all your freedoms, Loki of Asgard, but you will not leave it’s shores.” He gave his brother a short, mocking bow and stood back up.

“Enjoy your life, Loki.” Thor turned on his heel and kissed his mother on the cheek in farewell, before he strode off to the Observatory. Midgard had caught his eye and he thought to spend some years there amongst the mortals.

And then he would go to Vanaheim, and see if he could learn who Fandral had been.

Thor paused a moment as the Bifrost flared to life around him and looked back at the palace.

He took it all in, one last time. Asgard was not his home. Not any longer. It was full of cowards and liars, death and pain. Fandral’s daggers rested comfortably at his hips, and he turned with a nod to Heimdall, watching as the Gatekeeper twisted his sword into the Pillar of Asgard.

The Birfrost slammed him into one of the beaches of Midgard and Thor shook the sand from his boots as he straightened up and looked around him. An enormous white house built into the side of the cliff above him caught his eye, and Thor watched in amusement as a figure of metal crashed awkwardly into the sand in front of him, from seemingly out of nowhere. The face flipped open, and Thor peered down at the mortal man groaning about ice build-up, huge brown eyes blinking up at him as brilliant shades of red and gold swept over the metal suit.

He could see the colours, and from the widening of the man's eyes in front of him, so could he.

A new beginning, then. 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ástkæra bróðir minn - My Beloved Brother


	3. Ending Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Happy Ending!

Fandral was numb to his elbows and knees now, the tingling and prickling feeling never easing. His heart was slowing with each passing hour, and Eir, Thor or even Frigga now, constantly had a hand resting on his chest. 

His stomach had stopped hurting from lack of food, but his lips were dry and cracked with dehydration. Thor kept trying to tempt him into sipping from glasses of his favourite juices, of wine or milk -  _ anything _ \- to make him drink, but it all just tasted like nothing to Fandral. There was no point. Even the colours he’d so loved just a few days - weeks? - ago were fading back to shades of grey and black. The reds of Thor’s tunic were dimmed, barely more than a wash of pale colour over grey. The bright yellow of Frigga’s gown looked more white than yellow now, and Fandral wished that he could see Loki’s eyes one last time. That he could see that beautiful green he could barely remember now. 

“Fandral?” He turned his head to Thor’s voice with a wince. Moving was painful now. “ _ Ástkæra bróðir minn _ , won’t you try just a little?” He tipped a glass of something against Fandral’s lips, and he could feel the moisture but tasted nothing.  

He shook his head as best he could. Thor sighed and moved the glass away, returning his hand to rest over Fandral’s heart, his other coming to trace Loki’s words as they appeared on his neck and on his right cheek. They were appearing more frequently now, almost in time with each sluggish heartbeat. His arms and legs were covered, over and over. His chest and neck were almost totally silver, and Fandral knew that it was only a matter of time now before his face was too. 

_ No. I refuse.  _

He’d been such a fucking fool. Been naive enough to think that Loki would want him for a soulmate. Stupid enough to think that going to Frigga and asking for her help in planning the surprise bonding proposal for Loki was a good idea.

He’d just been so fucking stupid. 

Thor was speaking again, but his voice just sounded like dull rumbles of thunder now. There was no more sense to the words, just sound. But even so, it was still nice to listen to. He could hear the higher pitch of Eir’s voice and the gentle tone of Frigga’s. But the one he wanted to hear, the one he knew would sound like home. Fandral sighed and wanted to close his eyes, but Eir pressed her fingers to his head and murmured soft words to him. He thought she might have been telling him to keep them open. 

Thor rumbled something else, and Fandral tipped his head to rest on Thor’s chest. His heartbeat was steady and regular under his ear and Fandral found it soothing to listen to. A normal, steady thumping that his heart would never achieve again. He could hear the rain as it pelted against the windows, hear the deep rolls of thunder and feel Thor’s chest vibrate beneath his head as he spoke softly to either he or his mother. Eir moved back into his line of sight, and Fandral tried to smile at her, but he wasn’t sure it worked. 

All he’d ever wanted, for as long as he could remember, was to belong somewhere. To have his soulmate find him, love him and want him. To have a family of his own, and learn where it was that he’d come from.  _ Why _ he’d been orphaned. Thor had brought him into the palace on a whim, he knew that. The Prince had thought he was amusing and clever to be able to escape as he had using the shadows of the realms. Even Fandral didn’t understand how they worked, just that he was the only one who could use them. The only one who could open them and walk them safely. Others had tried but they always came back with limbs missing or more. 

But not him. And now… he’d never know why. Never be able to find out who he was, or why he could do the things he could. And he’d never find out why Loki had rejected him so.  

He’d just wanted to show Loki that no matter what he looked like, no matter where he was from originally or anything else… that Fandral loved him. That he wanted him. And that Frigga and Odin, Thor and Sif all loved him and wanted him too. 

He’d just wanted to show Loki that he mattered to all of them. 

Instead… he’d made a fool of himself, and Loki too. He could see that now. Could see that Loki would have walked in and felt ambushed, felt pressured. This was all his fault. 

Fandral groaned as the itching on his face spread again and Loki’s words traced themselves over his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. Thor’s big hands moved, rubbing soothing circles over his skin as they spread, but Fandral turned his head away. He was too tired now. Didn’t want the soothing. Didn’t want to feel the last kind touches he was going to feel. The numbness was creeping up towards his thighs and collarbone now, and he just wanted it to be done. 

Thor said something, yelled it almost, and Fandral sighed. The door had opened again, he could hear the faint sounds of Eir and Frigga speaking, felt the rumbles in Thor’s chest as he raised his voice and closed his eyes against it as the itching began again over his lips and cheeks. 

_ No. I refuse _ . 

* * *

“Unfortunately, what you are asking cannot be done,” Tivan said with what sounded like honest regret. “A god’s immortality is bound to their soul. You _could_ remove it, of course, but you would be dead the instant you succeeded, and that is not what you desire.”

Loki sighed. “I see. Thank you for your time, Tivan.” He summoned a doorway.    
  
“A moment, Trickster.”    
  
Loki paused and glanced back at the Collector.    
  
“Soulbonds are one of the things we have not had much luck researching.” Tivan moved around the table as he spoke, trailing his fingers over items Loki didn’t know the purpose of, much less the names. “We can record things that we have watched happen, of course, and we can offer theories, but the means of altering our innate person and the lines connected to us remains a mystery. Else, we would long since have found a way to keep the Rejected bonds from killing our loved ones.”    
  
He gave Loki the kind of look he was accustomed to receiving only from Heimdall.    
  
“There is not a way to remove your immortality without destroying yourself, but I have heard tales, little more than legends, of immortality being... split. Of it being shared.”   
  
Loki stared at him, feeling a kind of wary hope in his chest. “How would that work? Would it... lengthen his life and shorten mine?”   
  
Tivan made an odd motion with his hand. “Perhaps. They are little more than stories, you understand, not a guide. There is one thing I do know, however.”   
  
Loki waited.    
  
“A god’s immortality can only be shared with their soul bonded. Meaning, of course, that you must be _bonded_ first.” He frowned apologetically. “It’s very possible that splitting your immortality will kill you. Even more likely that attempting to give it to a mortal will kill them instead, leaving you as you surely feared from the start - immortal and grieving a broken bond. But there is a chance, just a small chance, that it will work as surely you wish.” He spread his hands. “That is all I know, I’m afraid.”    
  
Some time later, a few hours, Loki sat on the beach at the edge of the Vanaheim sea and stared out into the water.    
  
Forever. An impossible thing. Or, an unlikely thing. But still...   
  
He’d been playing his seidr among the part of him where he could feel forever in himself. His soul, and the immortality that flowed there. He could feel how it fit against him, how it was bound to him, and he could feel where he might sever it, to give it away.    
  
But he’d have to be bonded to give it. And even then, it might not work.    
  
Even then, he might be left to grieve.    
  
Would he not grieve anyway, however? Even unbound, would it not hurt terribly when Fandral died, having known him and loved him from afar?    
  
Here was hope, a tiny tremulous thing, but it required from him a bit of faith. A leap toward the impossible, and forever.    
  
Could he do that?    
  
Loki trailed his hand through the sand, golden grains that reminded him of Fandral’s hair. An ocean of blue like the outfit Fandral had been wearing. If Loki sat here long enough, he would get to see the sunset, as golden and beautiful as Fandral’s eyes.    
  
He thought he’d rather see Fandral’s eyes.    
  
Loki stood and brushed himself off, calling up a doorway to Yggdrasil. A leap of faith, clinging all the while to hope. He could do that. For a chance at forever with Fandral, he could do that.    
  
He climbed onto a branch and made his way back to Asgard.    


* * *

Everything hurt. His chest ached fiercely, his face itched all over as the words kept spreading, and he could count almost forty-three seconds between the beats of his heart. He was dying, and it wasn’t coming fast enough.

_ “You don’t  _ **_deserve_ ** _ it to be faster,” _ Loki scoffed from where he was sitting now, perched on the bedpost above Eir’s head.  _ “This is all I think you worthy of. I don’t love you. I don’t want you. Why would I want to bond with some no-name thief, when I could have my choice of any in the realms? I am a  _ **_God_ ** _ , you foolish mortal.”  _

“No. I refuse…” he mumbled. He wanted to say so many different things now. To tell Thor that he loved him dearly. That he’d been as a brother to him since the very first day he’d showed a frightened orphan a small touch of kindness. Wanted to tell Frigga that he adored her, that he had dreamed often that she would call him son. To tell Eir that there was no one, anywhere, with hands as kind as hers. He wanted to tell Sif she was a better warrior than anyone else. 

And he wanted to tell Loki that he didn’t blame him. Not at all. He had been a fool to think that Loki would want  _ him _ .

“Fandral?” Eir was whispering into his ear and he opened his eyes, not having realised they’d slipped closed. “Darling, will you drink this?” Something wet touched his lips and tongue, but he felt it as it just spilled out the side of his mouth again. Thor twitched beneath him as the door opened softly, but Fandral was too tired to care. Too tired to  _ move _ .

His heart gave another futile beat and he closed his eyes again.

“No. I refuse.”

 

* * *

Once he’d returned to Asgard, he’d lingered at the edge of the Bifrost for nearly three hours, his mind racing. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He wanted to try. But what if it didn’t work? What if nothing worked? What if he didn’t even get four hundred years? What if he didn’t even get four hundred  _ minutes? _

“My prince.”

Loki looked up, still gnawing on his fingernails. Guiltily, he tucked both of his hands behind him. “Hello, Heimdall,” he said, unable to stop the nervousness in his voice from leaking out. “Does your… vast gaze offer any sort of advice, I wonder?”

The Gatekeeper regarded him silently, tilting his head to the side as though listening to something that Loki could not hear. After a moment, he straightened. “If you plan to make a decision, you should do so quickly, unless your intention is to let the clock run out and take your choices from you.”

Loki’s brows turned down in fury, but Heimdall silenced him with a look. He quailed beneath it. Loki thought he found the Gatekeeper more intimidating even than Eir.

“You know that a mortal’s life is short,” Heimdall said. “Their time here is but a fraction of ours.” 

Loki’s teeth clenched and he nodded tightly. Of course he knew that.

“Did you know it also shortens their Rejections?”

He’d fairly run to the palace, an action unbefitting of a prince. But then, so was Rejecting your soulmate and leaving them to suffer for days while you have an existential crisis, and frankly, the rest of Asgard could hang. 

He ignored the guards, and his--Odin. He supposed he might get thrown in the dungeons for that later. Oh well. So long as they didn’t intercept him getting to Fandral. 

He might have swept a line of tricks across the surrounding corridors, just in case. He was a fool, yes, but not completely stupid. Usually.

Sometimes.

Heimdall had told him (shouted after him, really) that Fandral was in his room, so Loki went directly there, and he didn’t bother to knock. He pushed the door open softly, stepping inside as quietly as he could, but Fandral wasn’t sleeping. Loki heard him speak as he entered, those stupid words - lies - he had spoken. 

He shut the door behind him, and winced when a small bolt of lightning slammed into the wooden frame next to his face. 

Honestly, that was good restraint on Thor’s part. Loki was even a little impressed. He certainly deserved far worse.

“You can electrocute me later,” he told the other man. “I’m not here for you.”

* * *

_ “You  _ **_are_ ** _ pathetic. Imagining that Thor would choose to defend you over me? Surely now you understand why I Rejected you?” _

Fandral didn’t bother to open his eyes, just turned his face to hide in Thor’s warm chest. The Thunder God’s heartbeat was loud, much like Thor himself was loud, and strong like he was. His own gave another beat, and Fandral noticed it had slowed again. Fifty seconds between now. 

He wished it would stop. 

“Fandral?” Frigga’s voice, so soft and kind. “Sweet boy, will you open your eyes?” 

Thor’s heart was thumping in it’s steady way beneath his ear, and Fandral didn’t think he had the strength now to move again. The numbness was spreading in waves now, he could feel it tickling at his collarbone and at his hips. Thor’s big hands were gripping him tightly to him, and he could barely feel the warmth of it. He just wanted to sleep. 

“Fandral?” 

He shifted his head, just a fraction, turning away from the voice of his hallucination. It had fooled him before with kind words and promises, made him believe it was real. It was never real. 

“No. I refuse,” he whispered. The only words he could get out. The only ones he wished he couldn’t say. 

Thor was speaking, something that made his chest rumble and growl like a thunderstorm, and Fandral let it soothe him as his own heart gave another feeble beat. Fifty-one seconds. Eir said something, but she was too far away for him to hear properly. Thor tightened his grip on Fandral’s body and he felt himself turned into towards him. Thor was huge, like a massive wall of solid heat along his front, his hands firm and steady on his back. Fandral breathed him in - the eternal scent of petrichor and woodsmoke that Thor always smelt of. 

Home.

“No. I refuse,” he murmured.  _ I love you, brother.  _ “No. I refuse.”  _ Hold me until the end. I’m selfish that way.  _

_ “You are a pitiful thing, indeed.”  _

* * *

Loki hesitated only a moment, then decided that if his brother wanted to murder him, he could go right ahead. He moved over to the bed, sitting down on the opposite side from Thor, so he was at Fandral’s back.

He’d read of the different types of Rejections for the different races, knew the signs. He’d only thought he’d have more time, and it didn’t matter yet.

Curse his foolishness. And his cowardice. And himself in general.

Fandral was Vanir. The scars of the words Loki had spoken, such cruel words, told him that. He did not need to guess why Fandral turned away from him. Hallucinations were another of the Vanir’s sufferings during the Rejection. 

But Loki was not a hallucination. 

“Fandral,” he said, leaning in so that he was close to the other man, “I know you are seeing me here. That you probably have been for some time. I suspect it is even a cruel me. The God of Lies me, who you have never believed in. I’m afraid I’ve done you a disservice in letting you think I was anything less than a lying god. Perhaps if you’d known that side of me, you would have known these words for what they were.” 

He reached out a finger and traced one the letters of one scar. Thor growled at him but Loki ignored him. Thor’s real attention was on Fandral now, and protecting him, as it should be. 

“Does the hallucination of the God of Lies ever touch you, my thief? I know he whispers, cruel and kind words, as I have done. As you have heard me do, in both battle and jest. But does he ever touch you?” He trailed his fingers to another line of the terrible words. They did not belong here on Fandral’s skin, painted lies and proof of cowardice that they were. “Ignore the liar where he sits, apart for his fear of being known for what he is. I am here, heart thief. Will you not look at me?”

* * *

_ “Does he touch you?” _ Loki mocked.  _ “ _ **_Heart thief?_ ** _ I have never called you that. You’re not a heart thief. You are  _ **_nothing_ ** _. Pitiful little mortal. Do you truly think yourself so important to me?” _

Fandral shrank down further into Thor’s chest, his skin itching as the words appeared again somewhere on his face. He could feel Thor’s hands - big and warm and strong - on his shoulders where the numbness wasn’t complete. 

But there were other hands on his skin. Lighter, cooler hands that he thought he might recognise. 

“Ignore the liar,” Loki whispered again. Fandral felt Thor’s hands twitch and clench a little. “Fandral?” 

“No. I refuse.”  _ Are you real? I don’t want to turn around again. I’m tired.  _ “No… I refuse…” he breathed and his heart thumped in his chest again.  _ I’m tired, Loki. Let me go. You don’t want me.  _

_ “I don’t want you. I  _ **_never_ ** _ wanted you!”  _

* * *

He actually huffed a laugh at the sight of Thor’s fingers clenching. His brother… his  _ brother _ was still furious with him. And, Loki noted sadly, with good reason.

“Thor is correct. That would be asking you to ignore me, wouldn’t it? He always was smarter than anyone gave him credit for.” He trailed his fingers over Fandral’s back, frowning at the man’s lack of response. It took a little testing until he found the places where Fandral had apparently not lost his sense of touch. They were pitifully few.

“Do you know who he is, Fandral? He is the broken Loki. The one I know you’ve seen in glimpses throughout the years, in moments your mind has catalogued but never put together until now. He is the cruel moments you have seen in me, of which there are too many, and the silver tongue wielded like a dagger in the back. He is the coward, and the liar, and the cruel god. He knows only dark things, Fandral. He knows only terrible, painful things and words that will hurt, even if they are spoken gently.”

He trailed his fingers over Fandral’s neck, tracing words that he wished would replace the cruel ones carved in Fandral’s skin.  _ Beautiful. Clever. Quick-footed. Shadow. Starlight. Beloved. _

“Did he tell you where I have been these last few days, my thief? I’m certain he had a tale or two to weave for your ears. What did he say? That I have gone off and frolicked with a maiden or five.” 

He ignored the noise his mother made behind him, a half-formed command to stop taunting Fandral. But Loki was not taunting. He was making a point, and it was an important one. 

“That I lay down with a score of men ten times your better and let them all fill me with their seed, so I may have dozens more children to replace those I’ve lost?”

He felt Fandral shudder beneath his hand and sighed. “My thief, he is a liar and a fool, and I tell you this as one who has been a fool all their life, and is fluent in lies. He in the corner, the shade of doubts and fears, has no idea where I have been, for he could not conceive of it.  _ It,  _ the demon, is nothing more than a poison I would have you turn away from. Don’t listen to it. It lies for no purpose but to hurt. None other than that.”

He touched Fandral’s chin, turned his head slightly, and leaned over, daring to rest his shoulder against his brother’s arm as he brushed his thumb over Fandral’s cheek. “Would you like to know why I have not been here these last few days, for true? I spent a fair portion of my first day since fleeing throwing a temper tantrum that still has half of Asgard’s seas frozen solid. After that, I fled to Vanaheim to consult their library, and when I could not find an answer there, I went to Tanaleer Tivan to ask him what he knows.” 

He continued trailing his fingers over Fandral’s skin, tracing the contours of his face, memorizing them with his eyes and his hands both. “I have loved you for centuries now, in a way that has nothing to do with soulmates and everything to do with you. I fell in love with you, and when clever fingers sought to steal my heart from my chest, I did not try to stop them. It was yours long before you held it. It has always been yours, it seems. 

“But I am a coward, dearest. I was prepared to love you from afar, never letting you see me and never being known. And then I find that we are soulmates, and everything seemed lost for a time. Cruel and Cowardly Loki came to rise when you asked me your words, because I needed to hide, and that is a terrible thing to subject someone you love to.”

He stopped the tracing of his hands and just held Fandral’s cheek, watching him, hoping he would open his eyes. If he were to lose his color sight today, he wanted to see Fandral’s eyes one last time as they truly were, honey gold and beautiful. 

“You could love me all of your life, and go on to the Valhalla that waits you holding all of those memories in your heart. But I could only love you for a portion of mine, before you were lost from me, and I would spend an eternity grieving you.” He sighed sadly. “I cannot goad an apple to sprout for you even with my silver tongue, heart thief. I could not make you immortal, even clever as I am. Ignore the lies of the cruel shade in the corner. My thoughts have not strayed from you these past days. I was not frolicking with maidens nor letting anyone bed me. I was seeking a way to make myself mortal, because I want my forever with you, Fandral Asgardson, even if forever is only ten years. Even if it is only one.” 

* * *

_ “Liar,”  _ Loki hissed to him from his perch on the bedpost.  _ “It’s all lies. Surely you can see that? Surely you are not so blind? Why would I surrender my immortality… for  _ **_you_ ** _?” _

Fandral could feel the touches on his face though. Feel Loki’s hands, the soft feeling of his fingers. He could  _ smell _ him - salt, coconut and something green. 

_ “It’s lies. I spread my legs for any man who looked my way and had my way with twice the women!”  _

But he could  _ feel _ Loki’s hands. Fandral’s heart beat again and he fought against the weights on his eyes, blinked them slowly open to a world more grey than bright now. But Loki’s eyes were always brilliant. 

Brilliant, and bright and perfect. 

He fought to keep them open, tried to smile. “No. I - I refuse,” he whispered.  _ I missed you. I love you. I’ll wait on the other side.  _

* * *

The thing with being Silvertongue is… it’s not  _ words. _

There are words, yes, but it’s about being able to communicate, and to twist words, and to tell more than one thing, sometimes as many as four things, with just a single sentence. It’s about speaking to three different people and having each of them hear three different things, with a single word. 

Loki is Silvertongue, because he knows how to speak. And because he knows how to listen. 

It’s not perfect. He can’t read minds, which is frankly a blessing, but Fandral’s eyes are tired and sad and squinted just so, and his smile, a tremulous, pained thing, strikes up in the corners in that way he has always done just for Loki, and only Loki.

He trailed his thumb over Fandral’s cheek with a small smile. “I know. I’m sorry I was gone so long, love. I’m afraid I’m rather good at running.” He slid his fingertips beneath Fandral’s chin, tapped them to get his attention. “It is your choice,” he said quietly. “I will force nothing on you, but I want you to know, if your offer of the words remains, then  _ yes, I accept.”  _

He touched the scrawl of cruel words across Fandral’s cheek. “Yes. I accept. I would have your heart and mine beat together, your life for as long as I may keep you, your love for as long as you offer it, and your soul entwined with mine. I have loved you too long to not grieve you when you are gone from me, regardless of how long I can keep you for. But I would have you now, my thief, if you still want a cowardly god who is too good at being cruel.” He sighed softly. “We can discuss anything else later, but for now, Fandral, do not fade away for my stupidity.  _ Stay.  _ I want you here.”

* * *

It was never much of a choice.

Loki was a skilled liar, but he was obvious when he spoke the truth. The corner of his left eye would always twitch, just the most minuscule amount when he spoke nothing but truthful words. 

Fandral listened, and he watched. And when he saw the twitch he made up his mind. It was a simple thing, to open his heart and soul to Loki - because he’d never closed them off. He’d opened his to the trickster that day during his ill-fated party and never been able to close them.

It  _ hurt _ . 

It felt like a million claws digging into his flesh all over, pulling and tugging and  _ twisting _ him. He screamed when the claws sunk into the flesh of his throat and into his hips. Thor was thrown from the bed when he thrashed about, but he could feel Loki’s weight beside him, feel those cool slim hands on his face. 

His heart was on fire. It sped up and up until Fandral worried it would explode. The feeling rushed through him like boiling liquid and he felt the heat of tears on his cheeks. His throat was raw with screaming, but it hurt so much less than listening to the false Loki’s words. Listening to him describe the lovers Loki would have taken, the children he would have with a dozen different partners. The lives he would live. 

Fandral felt then, for the first time since it had closed itself off to him during the party, the flow of his seidr inside of him again. He felt whole. 

There were voices somewhere in the room - panicked shouting and Thor’s rumbling - but he focused on Loki’s calm words, telling him to breathe. To just breathe and focus. 

His heartbeat slowed again, but it kept thumping like it should, and Fandral opened his eyes to the scared green pair above him. 

“Lo-- _ Loki _ ,” he rasped out. “You  _ fucker.”  _

* * *

Loki’s lips quirked up slightly at the words, but there was little humor in it and the smile faded quickly enough. “I know. I’m sorry. I have no excuse save my own stupidity.” His fingers clutched Fandral’s wrist, feeling the steady, proper beat of his heart.

He could feel the tears on his cheeks, but brushing them away would mean letting go of Fandral, and that wasn’t happening. He leaned forward until he could rest his forehead against Fandral’s and shut his eyes, adjusting his hand so his fingers slid through Fandral’s and holding on tight.

“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m cruel and terribly dumb and I have loved you for centuries and the idea of losing you makes me want to gut myself. I thought I could spare myself the pain, but I would mourn you regardless. I would have mourned you had I never known. I couldn’t have imagined being mated to anyone else, not even a thousand years from now.”

He leaned slightly to the side when Eir stomped over, demanding to have a look at her patient and sending Loki a poisonous glare that informed him of how utterly stupid he was. For his part, he only nodded in acceptance. He was a coward, and he had hurt not only Fandral but Thor and his mother.

_ Sorry,  _ of course, wasn’t good enough. It wouldn’t ever be, but he planned on saying it every day until he died. 

“Don’t leave yet,” he told the healer, when she moved to get up. 

She gave him a sharp look. “What’ve you done to yourself, then? Did you succeed in making yourself mortal?”

“No,” Loki said quietly. “It’s not a thing that can be done.” He reached a hand out to touch Fandral’s cheek again. “Just… stay,” he told the healer without looking up from Fandral’s eyes, honey gold and brilliant and beautiful. “Just in case.”

Eir snapped something at him, but Loki ignored her. He wanted to do it now, before he lost his nerve. Digging his seidr into the place inside of him where he could feel his immortality seal itself fast to his soul, could feel the loose edge of it that left half of it unbound, as though it wanted to be shared. 

It was easy to sever it - his seidr cut through it like paper - but oh, it  _ hurt.  _

He sank his teeth into his lip until he tasted blood but pressed on, pushing the half of his immortality against the bond he could feel linking his and Fandral’s hearts. It was so new a thing, still growing, that it took what Loki offered easily, drawing it in, changing it from the green of Loki’s seidr to a soft, smokey blue. 

The world tilted slightly and Loki let himself fall forward, burying his face in Fandral’s shoulder as he felt the half of his immortality tear free from him with a shudder that rocked his whole body. He muffled a cry against Fandral’s skin, but couldn’t stop his fingers gripping the man’s hip in a search for something steady. It felt like he was ripping himself in half. Perhaps he was. Half his life, his immortality, to Fandral. Half of it, and let him keep it. Don’t let it hurt him. 

“Stay,” he whined, clutching Fandral to him. “Stay.”

* * *

Something was pressing at his seidr, at his  _ soul _ , something that felt like Loki. It was easy to just let it in, let his seidr wrap around it and draw it in, to push a piece of his own back. Whatever Loki had given him, it clearly hurt him, but Fandral wasn’t sure why. He could feel the words carved above his heart finally healing over, felt as the words all over his body seemed to flare with a bright golden light before they disappeared, and he breathed in deeply.

Loki was a heavy weight on his body, but less than what he should have been. Less than what he’d always been. As though he were lighter, or Fandral was stronger somehow. Loki was gripping to his hips tightly, and whining at him, begging him to stay. 

“Loki,” he murmured and brought shaking hands up to clutch at Loki’s hair, at his back. Loki’s lip was dripping blood onto his cheek, but he didn’t care. Ignored it and pulled the trickster tighter to him. “I’m staying. I love you. I’m staying.” 

Where else would he ever go? Everything he’d ever dreamt of, everything he’d ever wanted - ever  dared to imagine having - was pressed against him from head to toe, bony elbows digging into his sides and hair tickling his nose. This was the idiot he’d loved for so long. 

All the things he wanted to say were suddenly unimportant. Nothing mattered except Loki’s weight on top of him, the beating of their hearts in perfect synchrony. Every flutter and twitch that Loki made, he could feel it. Every clench and wiggle, every sped up heartbeat, he felt it all. 

Loki’s tears were a damp patch on his shoulder, his mouth was still moving against his bare skin, but Fandral didn’t care. The words and the silver were faded from his skin, his heart was beating, his words were back… and he had Loki. 

“There’s nowhere else,” he whispered to Loki and pressed his face into the side of Loki’s throat where it was pressed against him. “No one else. Just you. Always you.” Fandral moved his hands from their death-grip on Loki’s hair to run down his back and grip his hips tighter. He felt thinner than he should, and knew he must look worse. “We’re gonna eat something, okay? And then there’s a set of silk sheets I bought just for you, you snob.”

* * *

“Food’s a good idea,” he mumbled into Fandral’s shoulder. “And sleep.” He should do both of those things, but the first one required getting up and, ugh, why. 

Instead, he pressed his nose into Fandral’s throat and sighed at the steady beat of his pulse there.    
  
He took a moment to just breathe, and to listen to Fandral breathe, and to touch his seidr to the both of them, prodding and testing. The place where he had cut his immortality apart had healed, the severed piece replaced with a bit of Fandral’s soul. Loki traced it in wonder, his fingers trembling against Fandral’s hip.    
  
And when he pressed his seidr against Fandral’s soul, it was easy to find the half of his immortality there, sealed with Fandral’s as though it had always been meant to go there. But not a half. Not a few thousand years or even a millennium. There was immortality in both their souls. There was forever there, even for Fandral.    
  
Loki burst into tears.    


* * *

“Loki?” Fandral tried to shift, to move just a little to see why he was suddenly bawling his eyes out into Fandral’s throat, but as soon as he moved just a little, Loki clutched him harder and shook his head.

“Stay!” 

Fandral blinked stupidly and bit his lip for a moment. “I’m staying, sugar,” he murmured. “Okay. I can fix this.” Fandral cleared his throat and looked around the room. “Would you mind giving us the room for a while?”  

Eir glared at him, but she was the first to nod and move towards the door. Frigga came over and pressed soft kisses to his cheek and to Loki’s before she followed her out of the room. Thor was, naturally, the last and the hardest to make leave. He put his foot down, crossed his arms and shook his head. 

“I don’t trust it,” he growled. “I have watched you die for days!”

“And now I’m fine, and I’m asking you to give us some time,” Fandral reasoned, but Thor shook his head and planted his feet.

So Fandral resorted to an old tactic. 

He smirked up at his heart-brother and winked. “I mean, if you want to stay you can, and see the way I’m going to strip Loki’s clothes off with my teeth, how I’m going to take him apart with just my hands-” Thor slammed the door shut behind him as Fandral yelled loudly _“-AND RIDE HIM LIKE A FUCKING STALLION!”_

* * *

Loki clutched Fandral’s skin to make sure he wouldn’t leave as he turned his head so he could look at where Thor had been standing. His brother was gone, and he hadn’t even tried to hit Loki once with Mjolnir.

He shortly closed his eyes again, though, too tired and heartsick to think about Thor right then. He would talk to him later, try to repair what he had broken, but he couldn’t now. He kept expecting to wake up, or find it was all a trick and Fandral had been dead when he arrived back at Asgard and this was all some massive hallucination brought on by madness. 

“Staaay,” he whined, and pressed his face into Fandral’s chest, sobbing and clutching at his hips. “Please don’t leave.”

* * *

“I’m not going anywhere, sugar,” he said softly. “Never. I’m staying right here by your side, for as long as I live, Loki.” Fandral shuffled a little, just enough to get his face in line with Loki’s and leaned in to press a chaste kiss against his lips. Loki’s hands got somehow tighter on his hips, and Fandral grunted a little as he pulled himself closer. “I’ve got you, Loki. I’m here, sugar. I’m right here. All yours. Forever, okay?”

Fandral could hear Thor pacing in the hallway, could hear his voice as he barked orders at the guards and maids, and sighed. A flicker of his fingers had a locking and silencing ward thrown against the wall and door, and he kissed his soulmate again. 

“We’ll work it all out,” he murmured. “Together, alright?” 

* * *

Loki nodded meekly.

He was very tired. Physically tired, but also tired in his head and his heart. He’d been flying from one emotion to another for the past four days, trying to work out a way that he and Fandral could be together. Barring being able to tear out his own godhood and become mortal, he had hoped for a few thousand years alongside Fandral. 

Instead, he gets forever. 

And he’s so happy. He’s  _ so  _ happy, he doesn’t know how to express the emotion. All he has now are tears, and he’s not sad (he’s got no reason to be sad!), but the tears won’t stop. 

“Love you,” he whispers, lying his head down next to Fandral’s and closing his eyes. “Loved you forever and ever. I’m sorry I ran. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Didn’t want to hurt you.” He traced his fingers over Fandral’s heart. “Can you feel it?” 

Fandral turned his head so he could look at him and Loki met his eyes half-lidded. “Can you feel it, Fandral? It  _ is _ forever. It is, Fandral.” He winked and sent the tears streaking down his cheeks. “Forever and ever and ever and no more goodbyes.” 

* * *

Forever?  

He closed his eyes a moment and felt inwards. A little glowing ball of Loki’s seidr, wrapped in his own. 

Immortality. 

Forever. 

Fandral opened his eyes and grinned. “Loki?” He waited till those perfect green eyes were focused on his and kissed him again. “Marry me?” 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ó, bróðir minn - Oh, my brother
> 
> “Ég elska þig, bróðir hjarta míns.” - I love you, brother of my heart


End file.
